


Don’t mess with a Principality

by SlyKing



Series: Inktober 2020 [5]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale's Flaming Sword (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, Inktober, Inktober 2020, M/M, Principality Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), blade - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:55:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26874046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlyKing/pseuds/SlyKing
Summary: He had kept the demon in his arms for long minutes, perhaps even hours, whispering comforting words to him with determined assurance. He then helped Crowley get up, helped him clean up his wounds, and allowed him (or rather ordered) to stay here. Crowley had not uttered a single word. He had wrapped himself in the tartan blanket that Aziraphale had given him and slept on the couch. Aziraphale had been watching his sleep carefully for two days after having reinforced the protections around the bookshop. And, after making sure Crowley was perfectly safe, he was out.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Inktober 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951387
Comments: 1
Kudos: 74





	Don’t mess with a Principality

_“So He drove the man out; and at the east of the garden of Eden He stationed the cherubim and the flaming sword which turned every direction to guard the way to the tree of life.”_

\- Genesis 3:24

It was rare to see Aziraphale angry. One could sometimes feel him annoyed, disappointed, even vexed, or irritated, but the angel never raised his voice or showed himself violent. That’s why, as he was walking down Greek Street, passers-by walked away from him, because an angry Aziraphale was very impressive. Aziraphale had not often felt sych a rage - to tell the truth, it had never happened. He had sometimes found unjust situations, but more than anger, it was despair, guilt and incomprehension that had mostly marked his mind. Today, everything was different. Someone made the mistake of attacking Crowley. The fists clenched along his stiff body, Aziraphale rushed into an alley. He made sure to find the attackers - two demons. Hastur and one of his henchmen whose name Aziraphale had not really retained, too furious for his mind to focus on the details.

In fact, it all happened very quickly. Crowley had arrived at the bookshop as usual to have tea and a drink, but Aziraphale immediately felt that something was _wrong_. His vital essence was weak, and there was a lot of fear. Crowley was often fearful despite his laid-back attitude, always on the alert. But it was not a matter of mere anguish, but rather of deep terror and deep suffering. Aziraphale had immediately closed his book, got up and hurried to meet him. Crowley was barely standing, looking miserable. His glasses hid his eyes but his expression and posture did not deceive. His clothes were torn in places and he was bleeding. Why didn’t he heal himself? had distractingly thought Aziraphale before approaching him gently.

“Crowley…” had whispered Aziraphale. “What happened?”

Crowley had not answered. He looked lost, and he trembled. With the same gentleness, Aziraphale had laid a hand on his friend’s arm. This one had had a slight shudder but he had not backed away under the touch. Seeing the demon so vulnerable had broken Aziraphale’s heart. Crowley’s legs had escaped under him, and Aziraphale had sustained him in his fall, pressing the demon against him. They had both fallen to their knees on the floor. The demon’s hands had grasped his clothes with the force of despair. Aziraphale had tried to heal his wounds, in vain, an evil aura surrounded them. The angel had then understood and the anger had made him tremble. He had taken a deep breath to appease his fury; Crowley needed him above all else.

“Crowley…” he whispered in a very soft, calm and soothing voice. “You are safe here. It’s alright, dear.”

He had kept the demon in his arms for long minutes, perhaps even hours, whispering comforting words to him with determined assurance. He then helped Crowley get up, helped him clean up his wounds, and allowed him (or rather ordered) to stay here. Crowley had not uttered a single word. He had wrapped himself in the tartan blanket that Aziraphale had given him and slept on the couch. Aziraphale had been watching his sleep carefully for two days after having reinforced the protections around the bookshop. And, after making sure Crowley was perfectly safe, he was out.

The two demons were waiting for him. They had arranged to meet in this alley to fight. Aziraphale glanced at them with judgment and resentment. Hastur played with a flame on his fingertips and offered him a twisted smile.

“Well, well, well, who’s here?”  
“I came to warn you. If you dare to cross his path again...”  
“Yeah ? What are you going to do?”  
"You don’t want to know what I’m going to do," he warned them in an icy voice.

Hastur detached himself from the wall and approached Aziraphale.

“Stay out of this. It’s none of your business. It’s about justice! There was something fishy about this holy water thing, I’m sure you set up a little stunt. It may have impressed people, but not me.”  
“This is just a warning: _never_ come near him again. Never think of him again.”  
“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen… When he gets out of here, we’ll rip his feathers off one by one. He will be tortured like no more. He will surely wish to be dead. Hehe.” Hastur waved his infernal flame under the nose of Aziraphale who did not move a lash. 

He saw Crowley’s vulnerable air again, his wounds, his silence, his trembling shoulders, his shudder when Aziraphale had laid a hand on his arm. He didn’t want to know what Hastur had done to him, or how Crowley had run away. He couldn’t imagine it. Without even being fully aware of it, his wings spread out and a luminous aura began to shine around him. In his hand appeared his flaming sword which he made twirl and pointed under the throat of Hastur.

“I am the Principality Aziraphale , guardian of the Eastern Gate. If you touch him, there will be nothing left of you, I will personally make sure of it.”

Hastur’s air had changed dramatically. He tried to retreat but collided with the wall. His henchman, meanwhile, had disappeared.

“O-Ok, ok. Turn that thing down… turn it down!”  
“If anything happens to him, I’ll know who to come and see first. Remember that.”

Aziraphale steped back, his sword still pointed towards Hastur. The demon took several steps to the side before disappearing. Little by little, Aziraphale’s aura dissipated. His wings disappeared. Only his sword remained in the hollow of his hands. He trembled, almost nauseous, but held his head high. He realized, with horror, that he was serious. If Hastur, or anyone else, dared to lay hands on Crowley again.... But he regretted no action, no word. As long as Crowley was safe.

When he returned, the bookshop was silent. Aziraphale carefully closed the door behind him and leaned against it to regain hold, and catch his breath. He closed his eyes for a moment and neither felt nor heard Crowley approach. It was only when two arms closed around him that he became aware of the presence of the demon at his side. Aziraphale opened his eyes and turned his head slightly to look at his friend. He put a tender hand on his cheek, looking worried. 

“How are you?”  
'Uh… It’s okay." It was good to hear him again. Aziraphale smiled at him.  
“I’m glad to hear it. Come on, let’s sit down. I’ll make some tea.”

Aziraphale caressed the demon’s cheek one last time before going around to the small kitchen. Crowley’s hand closed on his arm, stopping him.

“Where have you been?”  
"Oh… Well, I had a business to take care of, you see. I hope I didn’t take too long."

A silence ensued. Aziraphale had never been very good at concealing things from Crowley. The demon approached him and embraced him from behind. His body was warm, pleasant. Aziraphale closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing himself this brief comfort. Crowley was fine. Everything was fine.

"Angel, I... What did you go to do?" he murmured.  
“Making sure we’re safe.”  
Crowley’s embrace tightened around him.  
“You shouldn’t have gone alone.”  
“Oh, dear, who do you think I am?”  
“It could have been dangerous…” whistled Crowley. “It was dangerous. They…Nhg. They… Angel…”  
“Hush, dear. I know. I know.” 

Aziraphale turned to him and wrapped him in the tartan blanket that had fallen to the ground. He made sure Crowley was wrapped up there before he laid a kiss on his forehead. 

“Rest. You’re safe here.”

Crowley set his forehead against Aziraphale’s before nodding.

“I know. I always have been. That’s why I came here. I didn’t know where to go.”  
“You will always be welcome here. Always.”


End file.
